


A Confession

by Aelfay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oh Dear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:05:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfay/pseuds/Aelfay
Summary: Sherlock has something to confess. Originally posted on Tumblr.





	A Confession

“I’ve drugged you,” Sherlock says, and John blinks up at him twice.

“Sorry, what?”

“I’ve drugged you,” Sherlock tells him again, “you told me that you should have full awareness of what’s going on when I do that, so I’m telling you.”

“Right,” says John, and he puts down his newspaper and looks up at him, frowning. “You’re supposed to tell me before you drug me.”

“Oh,” says Sherlock, blinking down at him before shrugging, “Oh well, can’t do anything about it now.”

John, meanwhile, is testing his own reflexes. “I don’t feel drugged,” he says a bit later, looking up to see that Sherlock has folded himself into his armchair.

“No, well, you wouldn’t. It doesn’t affect behaviour or cognitive ability,” Sherlock says.

“Well then what’s the point of it?” John asks, worried at the idea of something worse than a behaviour modifier.

Sherlock shrugs again. “It makes you forget.”

“Sorry?” John says, and now he’s smiling that small angry smile he uses when he wants to punch something.

“Nothing important, John. Just today. You’ll wake up tomorrow morning and today will be gone, and then you’ll shout at me for drugging you, or just assume you got your dates mixed up. It makes it rather pointless to tell you now, really,” Sherlock muses.

John leans back in his chair, frowning. “So… What is the point of forgetting today?” he asks, and Sherlock leans forward, eyes glittering.

“Simple; you won’t remember today, which means anything you do won’t be on your conscience. And I can easily delete anything that happens today.” Sherlock taps his temple with one long finger. “Today is a free day.”

Staring at him incredulously, John asks, “And what do I use a free day for?”

Gulping, Sherlock suddenly finds it hard to meet John’s eyes. “I thought I could- um. Or you could - we won’t remember this, John.”

“So I gathered,” John says slowly, watching Sherlock Holmes lose his composure.

“I thought, maybe, if you didn’t remember, this would be easier,” Sherlock says miserably, staring at the skull on the mantle like it’s all the bone’s fault. John leans forward in his chair carefully.

“What would be easier?” he asks, the lines around his eyes gentling, and Sherlock glances at him and down at the floor as he blushes.

“Telling you that - that I - oh, for god’s sake!” he bursts out, frustrated with himself, practically leaping out of his chair and tugging at his hair as he paces.

John stays still, watching his flatmate and feeling his heart beat a bit faster before he takes pity on him and stands up carefully. “Sherlock,” he says, in a firm quiet tone, and the detective’s frustrated hunch snaps into a straight spine as he looks at John warily.

“I take it you have something to say,” John says, going into parade rest without thinking, “and it’s something you’re worried I might take badly, which is why you dosed me up - which is still not on, by the way.”

Sherlock’s defeated nod tells John enough for him to keep going.

“So tell me,” John urges, “and if I don’t like it, I promise that I will call Greg and we will go get terribly drunk and in the morning I will attribute the blank to a terrible hangover, and you won’t even have to worry about me shouting. And if I do like it,” he shrugs, “we go from there.”

Sherlock blinks at him and narrows his eyes. “Who is Greg?” he asks, and John groans.

“Lestrade,” he says, and Sherlock makes a small ‘ah’ sound before steepling his fingers, and then pointing them at John accusingly.

“You won’t tell Lestrade, or write yourself notes?” he demands, and John rolls his eyes.

“Course not, that rather defeats the purpose, Sherlock,” he says, and Sherlock takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“I have a confession to make,” he says, and John nods encouragingly for him to go on. Sherlock pauses, looks him in the eye, and then finally says,

“It was the cat, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.


End file.
